If I were the type to make resolutions, I’d say this should be my Year of No.

My husband introduced the concept to me 15 years ago after we’d had our first child. He was a weekly newspaper editor and he wanted to quit the Rotary Club because it met at 7 in the morning. The last thing he wanted at that point in his life was to have to be somewhere first thing in the morning wearing a tie and making small talk about local politics. We were sleep-deprived, desperate people who couldn’t ride 45 minutes in a car without pulling over twice to soothe our newborn. The last thing we cared about was somebody protesting a new subdivision whose developer was financing the campaigns of half the local political candidates. Dan was too tired to pretend to care, so he quit Rotary.

For him, it was the beginning of a Lifetime of No. I can’t even tell you all the invitations and “opportunities” he’s declined since then.

Want to eat at a fancy restaurant? Go ahead. Dan will pass.

A trip to the beach with friends? No thanks.

Want to play on your cellphone while he presents a slideshow to the class about literary terms? Think again, my friend.

Want to stop by and give us some tips about how we could remodel our kitchen? I’d turn back if I were you.

When my husband dies, he’ll leave behind of a whole Legacy of No.

I wish some of his fortitude had rubbed off on me, but it hasn’t. Usually when someone asks me to do something, I try really hard to comply. Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking about things I should have done for people I don’t even know.

What’s crazy is that I overthink it all to the point of bargaining with myself. Here’s a fictional hypothetical example:

Let’s say we have this garden in our yard where a few of our neighbors grow some vegetables. It’s got some weeds in it, but they aren’t hurting anything. The kids love watering the plants and picking the vegetables, although of course they would never eat the vegetables. So they leave the vegetables as gifts on people’s porches.

The garden is really just a lot of work for me because I have to oversee the whole thing and make sure the experience is nutritious, educational, and equitable for everyone involved. Sometimes I dream of selling my whole property just to leave the garden behind.

Then one day, a new neighbor named Mrs. Fineshine is walking by and notices the weeds. She has just moved in from a gated community with a very active homeowner’s association. Some friends from her old neighborhood will be visiting her this weekend. As a favor to me, she has her gardener mow our entire garden down. They even put the plants they kill in Mrs. Fineshine’s yard waste container.

At first, I am kind of offended, so I think about snapping a photo of another unsightly spot on our property and asking if she wouldn’t mind paying someone to fix that up, too. But I think better of it. Everyone knows Mrs. Fineshine is very accomplished and educated. She would recognize passive aggression and might retaliate accordingly.

Defeated, I decide I will no longer plan and host the community garden. It is kind of a relief. There was actually only one child who truly cared for the plants in the garden as if they were his own. His name is Dylan and he looks really cool in overalls.

When Dylan sees what happened to the garden, he asks if we can rebuild it. I tell him no because I am too upset and tired of everything.

Then I don’t sleep for three days because of what a horrible, selfish, grudge-holding person I am. I dream I am binge-eating Little Debbie snack cakes as a vat of homemade vegetable soup I made is trucked off to the landfill at the bottom of a plastic bag by resentful, underpaid workers I never bothered to offer any vegetables.

Finally, I ring Mrs. Fineshine’s doorbell and ask if I might have permission to rebuild the garden, provided it is composed of only heirloom tomatoes, and designated with a white picket fence whose dimensions she may preapprove.

That’s it. That’s how the story ends. That is how I say no.

The bargain I strike with myself is that after all the work on the new garden is done, I allow myself to eat the snack cakes and fall into a coma-like sleep for at least four hours.

That’s my outlook for 2021. Sweet dreams.